


Brushes

by usabuns



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Artist/Model AU, F/M, I think this turned out pretty good actually, It took longer than I thought but I think it's worth it, Mentions of a lot of characters, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usabuns/pseuds/usabuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What d'you mean?" he says, confused. "My boss said you needed a nude model."</p><p>Winry internally curses herself for not verifying this crucial fact with Roy. He must have thought she said 'nude' when, in fact, she did not. For a few moments, she ponders as to how someone could make such a big mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brushes

The loud knocking on the door wakes her up from her nap. Weary eyed and yawning, she gets up reluctantly and trudges to the front of her house. The knocking persists, and she finds herself yelling out to her guest that she's "on her way." 

She flings the door open, annoyed, and is about to start lecturing whoever was unlucky enough to awaken her when she realizes that this is precisely the time that her model was supposed to show up. As she figures out, the model chosen for her turns out to be a man. He is about 6 inches taller than her and has his long blond hair pulled into a low ponytail. His facial expression signifies that he is displeased at her being late to the door. 

"You must be-"

"-Your model, yeah," he interrupts, stepping inside. He peels his jacket off and attempts to throw it onto a chair. He misses, badly. 

"Do you always barge into your employers' houses?" Winry grumbles, scooping up the jacket and hanging it on the banister. 

He gives a 'tch' and turns around to face her. She can see now just how muscular he truly is; the way his jaw is set, his chiseled arms. She gets goosebumps at the thought of painting all the fine lines of his body. Her hands ache for a paintbrush and canvas. 

"Anyways, my name's Edward. Edward Elric. And what should I call you, Miss?"

"Why so polite all of the sudden?" she mumbles, giving him a dirty look. She places her hands on her hips

"As you said, you're my employer. Which means you're the one paying me. I supposed I've gotta act decent to you. Are you gonna answer my question?" 

"Winry Rockbell. Nice to meet you." She holds out her hand and they shake. He smiles charmingly and their eyes meet. His amber ones are magnificent and her blue ones shine in the sunlight. They stare into each other's orbs for a while, until they both look away quickly. "Can I get you anything? Hungry? Thirsty?"

"No, I should be fine for now, actually." She nods her head in understanding and leads him upstairs into her studio.  
•~•  
Golden bars of light pour in from the skylights and brighten the wooden floor like spotlights on a stage. The walls are stark white with various paintings hung up on them. Multitudes of chairs are dispersed around the room, all varying in styles and colors. Canvases are stacked neatly in the far corner with a wood stand lying above them. 

The door shuts quietly behind them. Ed takes a few steps into the room. He glances around and Winry sees him smile. "It's very beautiful," he says quietly, looking up at the skylight. Warmth rushes through him. 

"Thank you," Winry responds, picking up a canvas and placing it on the stand. She grabs her paints and sets them down. Setting up her work space is something that comes natural to her. 

"I can help if you want," Ed says, walking towards the chairs. 

"No, no," she shakes her head, "it's fine. You don't need to help." He stops and turns around, eyebrows knit. 

"Are you sure? I could-"

"I can manage," Winry states quickly, pulling up a stool for herself. "Sit there," she instructs, pointing to a big, black leather chair in front of the work place she set up. He nods and approaches the chair. 

She bends down and cleans off her brushes one last time in the clear water. She looks up and nearly knocks the water-filled blue mug over. He's taking his clothes off. She gasps loudly and stands up abruptly. 

"What the hell?" Winry screeches, blushing madly. She looks more embarrassed and flustered than mad. Ed can tell. He stares at her, blankly. 

"What d'you mean?" he says, confused. "My boss said you needed a nude model."

Winry internally curses herself for not verifying this crucial fact with Roy. He must have thought she said 'nude' when, in fact, she did not. For a few moments, she ponders as to how someone could make such a big mistake. 

"Hello?" Ed waves a hand in front of her face annoyingly fast. 

Winry is ripped out of her reverie and doubles back, blinking a few times. "Yeah, okay," she mumbles, sitting back down. Paintbrush in hand, she watches Edward take off his shirt and drape in onto the top of the chair. She blushes again, but is eternally grateful for the fact that he's facing the other way. He pulls his hair out from his ponytail and lets it fall down his back. It shines when the golden sunlight rains down on him. Winry finds herself staring at him. It's the perfect position; the perfect scene for her to paint. 

His belt unbuckles and his jeans slide off, thudding when they hit the ground. Ed kicks them both to the side and out of Winry's direct view. His Deadpool boxers are the only things clinging to his body. Winry snorts when she catches wind of them. 

"They're classy, okay?" Ed defends, almost immediately; as if he's heard it all before. He probably has. She grips her paintbrush tighter as they, too, are shed and tossed away. She finds herself looking away. Sure, she's painted people nude before, guys and girls, but the model she got this time....he's just....different. She can't pinpoint exactly what it is that makes him different, however. So she sucks it up and gets her first gaze at the man in the chair. 

She immediately starts laughing like a total idiot. He's sitting there, a stupid smirk on his face. He's in a position that makes it look very obvious that he's pretending to be seductive. Winry's basically dying of laughter and pretty soon Ed joins in. It takes a few minutes before she regains her composure and saunters over to him so she can position him correctly. 

She guides his arms and legs; he complies without hesitation or question. She moves his hair and angles his face just right. She tells him to keep a blank expression. Finally, it is perfect, and the sun shines amazingly on Edward. 

She slides her smock on and gets to work.  
•~•  
Her pencil lightly sketches him onto the canvas. It seems so insignificant, like almost nothing, but it is a start. She wants to capture every splendid and superb detail of this scene. She wants the viewer to feel as if they were standing in this very room and looking at this very man in the very way that she's seeing him right now. 

That's the essence of this painting. She's painted a million times before, but this might as well be her first time doing it professionally. The way she acts while trying to do this piece speaks volumes about just how nervous she really is. She wonders if Edward is considering inquiring about her experience. 

Lines are delicately drawn on the pure, white surface. More and more appear after every passing minute. The stillness and silence of the moment strikes her as a bit eerie and offsetting. She peeps her head out from behind the canvas and digests the scene before her. Her pencil moves for her, as if subconciously, and copies what she's looking at almost exactly. She has a good feeling about this painting. 

"Winry, was it?" She almost jumps at the sudden words. 

"Yes?" she gulps, attempting to recuperate. "What is it?"

"I was wondering, how long have you been doing this for a living?" There it was. The question she had been anticipating. He probably thought she was a novice at this, considering her nerves had gotten the best of her. What made her act like that? This feeling had never happened before today; never happened when she was painting anything, or anyone, else. 

"A few years. Why?"

"Just...wondering, is all." He pauses and looks around the room a bit more when she refrains from looking at him for a few moments. "I suppose we should get to know each other a bit more, since we're gonna be working together all day."

"Right..." she trails off, getting sucked into her work. More details; the creases of the fabric, the shadows, the overlaps, the light comparisons.

"I'll go first," he says, a bit comically. Winry almost chuckles. "I was born in a town called Resembool. I don't know if you've heard of it or not, but it's just south of here in Central. Very rural."

Her ears perk up at that name. Her face grows hot and her fingers tremble at the sudden revelation. "I-I'm from there too, believe it or not. It's a nice town, isn't it?" He gives a 'hmm' of agreement. "I miss it sometimes, but I always try to visit whenever I can."

Edward laughs warmly. She sketches out some more until she finally thinks she's ready to paint. "Anyways," he starts, "I have a younger brother, and the two of us lived in Resembool all our lives. Our father was almost never around when I was a kid. Always on business trips, the bastard. I never really took a liking to him, as you can imagine." Winry gives him a look of sympathy. There is a certain hatred his voice carries when he speaks of his father, she notices. 

"But my brother still forgave him somehow, heaven knows why, even though he's been everything but a father. I can't even say that I hate him cause he hasn't been with us long enough for me to determine whether I do or don't. After all, how can I hate someone who's never around? It's pretty sad, actually. I guess I'm just waiting so see if he 'redeems himself' or whatever." He waves a hand dismissively and Winry scolds him to keep still. 

"Despite my father not being around very much, our mother was our pillar of strength. She took care of us all by herself, and I'll always admire her for that. She waited day and night for him to come back like he said he would. She had put her absolute trust and faith into him. That's what I loved about her; her undying hope, even in the most dire situations."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman," Winry says in awe, painting the first few strokes of the piece. She feels relaxed yet completely nervous at the same time. The more Ed talks, the more at ease she becomes. 

"She was. And we were all happy for a long time. But then," he inhales, looking as if he's on the verge of tears. She wants to call him out on this, but waits for him to continue instead, deciding not to push the matter any further. She waits for the inevitable. 

"Our mother got very sick. She was bedridden in the hospital for months. But we stayed by her side, as she had stayed by ours. We helped take care of her, we'd read to her and talk to her and visit every single day. My brother and I, we had to rely on only each other while she was sick. We were all we had. Days flew by without her getting any better. We were losing hope, though we wouldn't admit it, but she continued to show courage and strength and hope, even in the face of death. 

"I remember I overheard the doctors talking about her one day, outside the room. My brother was asleep, as was my mother. They said that she'd probably die soon. I didn't want to believe it. I didn't tell anyone at the time. Hell, I still haven't. You're the first one to know that I ever had any knowledge on that particular subject. And then it finally happened. She passed while we were by her side, hilding her hand. She never even got to see my father before she died. He never came back to see her one last time." The anger rises in his voice. 

"We wrote to him for months, trying to get him to come back. We knew it was her dying wish to be with him as she went on. But that never happened. Ever since, we've been on our own. All we had were each other."

Her lip quivers and she feels hot tears well up in her eyes. The slide silently down her cheeks, but she continues to paint, this time with a passion. "You two are very brave and strong, too. I'm sure she'd be very proud of both of you boys."

The room is quiet for a long time until Winry decides he's had enough time to regain his composure and tells her share of her story. "I was born in Resembool too, as I recall telling you earlier," she says, trying to fill in the part of the painting that's been bothering her for the last 30 minutes. "My parents were surgeons and my grandmother made prosthetic limbs. As is such, we traveled a lot, so I never got to stay in one place for too long. That's why I love settling down and taking trips to Resembool a lot. My life was relatively normal compared to yours, actually. 

"Except, we've got one more thing in common," she states, biting her tongue as she fixes a line, "the seemingly ongoing trend of dead parents. My parents got a call to go to a house in the...bad part of Central. They were working on thier patients when the house was attacked. They were murdered in cold blood. I've had to live with my grandmother ever since."

"That....must've been hard news to take in," Ed says quietly. His voice seems faltering, something she hasn't seen it do since they met only a few short hours ago. He didn't seem like the type to hesitate or quaver. 

"It was. I cried for a long time. I don't think I've ever truly gotten over it to be completely honest."

"Same." They both find a newfound respect in each other. Silence fills the room like lemonade in a pitcher and she's concentrating on doing her best work possible. She isn't sure exactly why, but she wants this piece to be stellar. She wants it to be her best painting ever. 

Somewhere along the way, Winry starts humming Mozart and she hears Ed laugh, not even attempting to hide it. She glares blue daggers at him, but hums a bit louder. He doesn't complain. It's just part of her creative process.  
•~•  
"How's it looking so far?"

"Great," she says, half-listening. She dips her brush into the brown oil paint again. 

"Close to finishing?"

"Halfway there, Elric." She shakes her head a few seconds later, as if contemplating whether or not she's done the last few strokes right. 

"Good. I'm feeling stiff." He resists the urge to stretch. 

"In a few minutes," she replies, making a few more strokes, "you can take another bathroom break. And if you want, I'll go make lunch." 

"Right," he says. If she would've allowed him to shift uncomfortably, he would have. "Those paintings on the wall, they're yours aren't they?"

"Correct."

"Well, they're really pretty. You're very talented." He sounds genuinely honest. The earnesty in his voice is unhidden. 

"T-Thank you," Winry blushes. "Everyone says that, but I don't think they're that good..." She hides herself behind the giant canvas and twiddles her thumbs before going back to painting. 

"C'mon, I bet people have paid tons of money for your work," he says. 

"Yeah, I guess they have, huh?" She eyes him wearily. 

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't pay loads of cash for artwork that was bad."

"...That's a compliment, yeah?"

"Yeah. It is." 

She smiles and works a few minutes more. Some texture is added to the chair. She brightens the lights, darkens the shadows, and adds details to his face and body. She declares the painting "half done" and escorts Edward out of the studio, making sure he doesn't take a peek at her work. 

Winry rubs her hands on her smock, wiping whatever bit of paint she has left of her hands off, and goes to the bathroom to get him a robe. She arrives seconds later with a white one in hand. 

"Thanks," he smiles, shrugging it on and tying a knot in the front. He tugs his long, blond hair out from under the robe and wraps an arm around her shoulder. 

She glares at him, but is too tired to actually do anything about it. He ruffles her hair and she groans at him. Oh well. He was being forced to sit in a chair all day, bored as hell, so she couldn't really blame him for pissing her off. Payback. 

And besides, after getting to know each other, she's grown really attached to him. Actually beginning to like him even. 

Brushing the thoughts aside, Winry gathers her hair into a messy bun and the two begin to descend the stairs, chatting idly. They agree to have sandwiches for lunch, and Ed offers to make them. She insists that he's her guest and that she should be the one making them, but he argues that she's been overworking herself too much. Finally, she gives in and lets him make the damn sandwiches. He smiles and cheers in triumph. 

When their hastily made lunch is finished, their work resumes, much to Edward's dismay. She tells him to stop complaining; after all, he's only sitting down, she's the one that has to paint. Has to capture every meticulous detail. Has to shade and brighten. Has to make sure every part of the piece is absolutely perfect. 

She does cut him some slack, however, since he's gotta stay glued in the same pose for hours on end. But her pity soon dissipates when he starts whining again. 

"You know, Edward," she drawls, adding more definition to his muscles and shading his hair, "this would go a lot faster if you stopped acting like a baby."

He snorts and Winry gives him a dirty side glance. "At least try to entertain yourself. With your thoughts or something," she instructs, tone sounding as if she were a mother telling her child how to behave at a prestigious event. Beads of sweat drip down her forehead, but she wipes them away with a quick hand-to-brow swipe. 

Her brush moves gracefully across the canvas, like a ballerina on stage. She saturates the light and highlights the floor. The beautiful color of his hair is carefully catalogued onto the work and his dazzling face will soon creep its way onto it as well. She cleans off her brush once more and takes a few deep breathes. Almost finished. She can't mess up now. 

Her movements are fast and precise. She concentrates harder than she ever has before. She can hear Ed whistle soothingly, and it gives her a sort of assurance that she doesn't get from anything else; that she can't get from anything else. That she won't ever get from anything else ever. 

And Winry's grateful for it.  
•~•  
"Do you want to see it?" she finally questions, standing up to admire her work. She smiles broadly and lets her joints and muscles relax. Ed pulls on his robe and steps carefully over to her side. His relief at being done and eagerness to see the product of this session cannot be contained. 

He gasps when his eyes lay upon her wonderful craft for the first time. His amber eyes widen and sparkle in awe as he sees just what an amazing job she's done. "It's....awesome." Ed pulls her into a long hug, which she doesn't reject in the slightest, though she does look mildly shocked at the sudden display of affection. 

The room grows dark with the skylight not producing anymore light. The beauty of day is now starting to fade as the mysteries of night ache to lurch forward. The reddish-pink hue of the setting sun is just about ready to be released into the sky. 

They release from their embrace and Ed reaches for the doorknob. He swings it open happily and ushers Winry out first. She oblidges and when they are both out and in the den, they stir. Waiting for the paint to dry is the hardest part of the process. It's categorized in between knowing that you're finished with your work, but you not quite tasting the achievement just yet. 

So they wait, patiently, for what feels like hours on end, for the damn paint to dry. In the meantime, Ed convinces Winry to play a game of Scrabble with him. They get through two games of it and watch a whole episode of Breaking Bad before Winry deems the painting "officially dry and completed."

"How much do I owe you?" she asks, fishing her wallet out from her paint-stained skinny jeans. 

"200 should be fine," he informs, leaning against the fine white wall of the studio extremely casually. 

She is visably shocked. "That's all? Are you sure you don't want more?"

He shakes his head in complete assurance. "I've got everything I need, Winry." She gives him the cash awkwardly. 

She isn't exactly sure what those last words mean, and she doesn't exactly know how to take them. She also doesn't have time to ask; for after he says them, he grabs his jacket and departs, closing the door shut behind him almost silently. 

She's left alone in her studio, and moments later, she hears the front door slam shut and a car engine roar to life. It takes her a while to process before she finally regains her senses and rushes downstairs. 

The door's unlocked, and she hastily goes to fix that. She peers out the window, only to find the driveway empty, her car being in the garage. 

Her heart sinks. And it hits her: he's gone. For good. Chances are, she'll never see him again. She feels a strange sort of longing for this man; something no one's ever made hed feel before. She has to take a seat at the dining room table to calm down. 

After pondering for a few minutes, she realized why she's felt this way. When he'd taken off his clothes awkwardly, when they played Scrabble and made sandwiches, all of it, she had only enjoyed it because he was there with her. She realized that she must've been feeling love. She remembered the way he looked at her, the way he talked to her, the way he acted around her, and she knew that he must've felt it too. 

She almost cries of grief until she spots a slip of paper protruding from the fruit basket in the kitchen. She's scared to see what it says, but eventually she musters up the will to grab it and read its contents:

(708) 318-5638

Winry finds, for the first time in many years, that she's crying tears of joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed this!! Leave some feedback if you wish because I always wanna improve and hear what all of you have to say!! Also, if there are any mistakes, please don't hesitate to let me know!! And I picked a random phone number, like I literally just typed random numbers. :)


End file.
